


STAN WARS

by Tell_Me_Tales



Series: Travels and Journals [7]
Category: Gravity Falls, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (Somewhat) Non-Linear Narrative, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence (for Star Wars), Clone Wars, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Death, Drama, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Filbrick is Darth Vader, Force Choking, Gen, Lightsaber Wounds, Main Storyline follows the Original Trilogy, Mando'a, Work In Progress, huttese
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-03-01 05:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13288149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tell_Me_Tales/pseuds/Tell_Me_Tales
Summary: Onceupon somearbitrary time, in agalaxy several dimensionsremoved from our own, the RebelAlliance struggles to overthrow the corruptand tyrannical Galactic Empire. Alliance leadershipfinds A NEW HOPE for its cause when Bail Organa informsthem of his plan to STRIKE BACK at THE EMPIRE by enticing retiredgeneral Ma Pines to join the fight. Prince Stanford of Alderaan is sentto seek her out and RETURN THE JEDI general to the rebellion's current base.After the costly Battle of Scarif, things become all the more dire as the stolen plans for theEmpire's newest superweapon, the Death Star, are also entrusted to the young royal. The Prince'sentire mission -- and perhaps even the Rebel Alliance as a whole -- is put in jeopardy as Sith Lord DarthVader gives pursuit of the Alderaanian vessel in an attempt to reclaim the classified superweapon's schematics.





	1. The Emperor's Attack Dog

**Dimension 278**  
**Tatoo System**  
**0 BBY**

Filbrick scowls as he watches the Alderaanian registered Corvette attempt to outrun his Star Destroyer. It's a laughable effort, though whether it is driven by desperation or is merely a last resort tactic to buy time for some less obvious objective... Well, that's difficult to tell. The Force is clouded with the barely contained panic of the _Tantive IV_ 's crew. Regardless, he is certain that the stolen schematics for Emperor Cipher's latest weapon are on board that vessel. He need only wring the truth from one of the traitors.

"Lord Vader," the man at the far right console calls, "The rebel ship is now within tractor beam range."

"Lock on and engage," Filbrick orders in a flat voice.

"Aye, Sir!"

"Notify the boarding parties," he adds to the comms officer, "Any trooper that allows a rebel to escape will answer directly to me." And be cut down. He doesn't need to say it; everyone in the galaxy knows what he does to subordinates that prove themselves to be inept.

"Yes, Lord Vader."

"I will be joining the lead boarding party," he states, turning on his heel, "If the _Devastator_ is not in the same condition when I return as it is now, you all will pay for your incompetence."

The door closes behind him on a chorus of, "Yes, Lord Vader!"

* * *

Filbrick strides through the halls of the _Tantive_ unmolested. He has a reputation, after all; and while these rebels are a foolishly idealistic lot, most of them have enough sense that they would much rather take their chances in a firefight with his troopers than find themselves on the wrong side of his blade. When he gets to a cluster of traitors that are filled with so much stupidity and grim determination that they actually dare to fire at him, he knows he's found what he's looking for.

The first two men fall to their own blaster fire as he reflects the bolts back the way they came. By that point, Filbrick is near enough that he can cut the next three in half with his lightsaber and he does so. He grabs the last in a Force choke, pulling the man into the air until his toes no longer reach the ground.

"Tell me what I want to know, and I will consider sparing your life," Filbrick says, "Where are the plans the rebellion stole?" He eases the pressure on the traitor's neck enough that he will be able to speak, though he keeps him suspended in the air.

The man coughs raggedly and draws desperate breathes.

"I am waiting," Filbrick say impatiently, "Where are the plans? This is your final chance for leniency."

The man glares and hisses, "Go to hell, you imperi--"

Filbrick snaps the man's neck with a thought and lets the body drop. He steps over the corpse and through the door the small contingent had been protecting.

"Shall I assume you are of some importance to the rebellion?" he asks the sole other occupant of the room he finds himself in.

The other man is young, very young, barely more than a boy, in fact. His fear leeches out into the surrounding Force for only a moment before it is hidden away under instinctive, improvised mental shields. (Is this one of the younglings that had survived the purge of the Jedi? He is about the correct age for the youngest among them, and it might explain why the other Force-user seems vaguely familiar. No matter, it is of no concern to him unless Cipher learns of the boy.)

"Lord Vader," the youth greets in a surprisingly level tone and offers a shallow bow of respect that Filbrick understands is a common custom on Alderaan. The Sith might have appreciated the gesture more if he couldn't feel the lingering hatred in the Force. "I'm afraid there must be some confusion. The _Tantive_ is on a relief mission to --"

"This is a rebellion manned craft in possession of stolen property," Filbrick cuts in, already bored with the poor attempt at deception, "If the schematics taken from Scarif are returned now, I will order my men to take prisoners rather than kill everyone on board."

"You can't do that!" the other objects hotly, "This vessel --"

"Has been directly connected to another ship that was part of the attack on Scarif, and in turn with the rebellion. All personnel serving on this ship are thus traitors," Filbrick states, "The punishment for treason is death and the emperor has already authorized me to use whatever force I deem fit to deal with this situation. I am offering you one final chance of clemency for you and whatever remains of your crew. Where are the plans?"

The young man hesitates, and then tries, "The plans you are looking for are not on this ship."

Filbrick considers the young man in front of him. He's telling the truth, but the Sith can feel that there is more he has yet to be told. "Continue," he commands.

"The plans aren't here!" the boy snaps, cutting through the air with one hand in an aggravated gesture, "I told you what you wanted to know! Now order your men to stand down!"

"I asked where the plans are," Filbrick corrects as he seizes the youth's wrist. The young man flinches back but he maintains his firm grip on the appendage. "You have only told me where they are not." He examines the limb caught in his grasp. He hadn't been imagining it; the untrained Force-sensitive has six fingers on his left hand. A quick glance at the other hand confirms that it, too, has six fingers. "What is your name, boy?"

The child (because the more he interacts with this Force-user the younger he seems and so referring to him as a 'child' is only appropriate) straightens to his full height and lifts his chin proudly. "I am Prince Stanford Organa of Alderaan."

Filbrick thinks the boy is under the mistaken presumption that his status as Core World royalty will protect him. He's about to be disabused of that notion. "I'll be sure to pass on my condolences to your parents," he says and there is just enough time to watch the youth's eyes widen in fear before Filbrick waves his free hand in the child's face and commands, "Sleep."

Force compulsions fueled by the Dark Side are not nearly so gentle as the Light Side mind tricks he had learned how to perform in his own youth. The prince drops immediately and it is only because he was expecting such a reaction that Filbrick is able to catch him before he hits the deck plating.

The Sith uses the Force to suspend the child so that he can access his comm unit. "All troops, the plans have been moved and are not onboard. Return to the ship. _Devastator_ command crew, once our troops have been withdrawn, destroy the _Tantive IV_. I will be back on the bridge shortly."


	2. The Old Guard

**Anchorhead, Tatooine**

"Welcome to our home," he hears his oldest daughter say and John McCorkle barely even notices as decades old training kicks in, body preparing itself for a fight that may or may not be coming. It probably won't be a problem. (His little Carla may be overly-optimistic, but she's grown up in Anchorhead, and she isn't half so naive as she first appears.) But _dammit_ , he's told her about bringing strangers home with her!

The once-familiar series of answering whistles and beeps from an old R2 astromech droid brings John up short. What he hears next from the front hall nearly gives the man a heart attack.

"Thank you, Miss Carla! Artoo and I are very grateful for your assistance in our time of need," says a voice that unmistakably belongs to the other half of his old general's infamous droid duo, C-3PO.

"Not possible," he whispers to himself in shock.

His second daughter, Cassie, chooses that moment to speak up. "I still say we should have left them to the dunes," she gripes, "They're going to bring trouble. Just watch."

"Cassie, it's every sentient's responsibility to give whatever assistance they can to anyone lost in the Dune Sea. You _know_ that," Carla chides gently.

An unhappy huff. "Carla, they're _droids_ , not sentients! Besides, we're not in the Dune Sea anymore. Duty met. We didn't need to bring them _home_ with us!"

"Well, I already agreed to help them get back to their owner, if I could," Carla returns, "So _my_ duty isn't met, yet."

"Ugh," Cassie says with an amount of disgust in her tone only achievable by teenagers, "Daddy isn't going to be happy about this, you know."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's the right thing to do."

"Girls," John interrupts, finally over his surprise enough to act and rounding the corner so his eyes can confirm what he already knows: Artoo and Threepio have somehow found their way to his home on Tatooine, alongside his daughters. He looks the four of them over critically. His girls are uninjured and none the worse for the wear, at least. Maybe there's still time to salvage their lives. "What's going on?" he asks, tone demanding answers.

"Daddy!" Carla greets him with a smile, though Cassie continues to sulk on the other side of the droid duo, "Other scavengers beat us to the site. So, that was a bust. We found these two droids wandering the dunes on our way back."

"And Carla insisted we bring them with us," Cassie says with a scowl.

"It wouldn't have been right to leave them behind!" Carla insists.

"If I might interject?" Threepio pipes up, "Artoo has been given a mission by our owner to locate and deliver a message to someone on this planet. We don't wish to intrude on your family's hospitality, sir, but any assistance you could give us in completing Artoo's mission would be greatly appreciated. I'm sure once we find this person, they will be willing to help us return to our master."

Artoo whistles an agreement.

John pinches the bridge on his nose. Threepio is as much of an unnecessarily verbose protocol droid as he remembers, it seems. "You're being awfully vague about this mission and who you're looking for," he states.

"My apologies," the droid replies, tipping its head to look down at its counterpart. It explains in an impressively huffy tone for a machine, "Artoo has been reticent regarding the details of his mission from Mast--"

Artoo beeps shrilly in warning and swivels its dome back and forth.

"Oh my! I nearly forgot!" the protocol droid exclaims, "I'm afraid our master requested his identity not be shared with anyone on this planet. Except the person Artoo was sent to find, I suppose. Artoo?"

The smaller droid beeps a short confirmation.

Cassie looks at her older sister pointedly but Carla is too absorbed in the droids' interaction to notice.

"I can't help you if I don't have anything to go on," John says bluntly. What are the chances he can just send the two on their way and avoid whatever mess is surely following them? If he's honest with himself, the answer is almost certainly 'not good.'

Artoo wobbles in place on its short legs with agitation. The astromech droid finally releases a string of whistles and beeps before projecting a holographic image in the air.

"Oh! Artoo says this is the woman he's searching for! Her name is --"

"Is that _Aunt Maude_?" Carla asks in disbelief as she stares at the blue-tinged image.

"I think it _is_!" Cassie returns in the same tone.

"-- Ma Pines." Threepio's eye-lights turn off and on in rapid succession, mimicking a surprised blink. "I'm sorry, do you know her?"

John sighs in defeat. It looks like war has found him again, if the droids have been sent to retrieve the general.

It's a small blessing that Maria isn't here to get caught up in the madness coming for their family. However, both of their daughters _are_. "Girls, go pack," he instructs, "Keep it light. One bag; essentials only. We won't be coming back anytime soon."

Both of his girls' heads whip around to look at him, wide-eyed and startled. "Daddy?" Cassie asks in a hushed voice as she reaches out for her sister.

"Go on," he says with a nod toward the house's bedrooms. The girls share an uneasy look but they obey. He doesn't wait for them to get to their respective rooms before returning his attention to the duo of droids in front of him. "Artoo," he address, because if either of the droids hadn't had their memory banks wiped since he'd last seen them, John would know by now, and the command codes he has will only work on the shorter robot. If they'll still work at all, that is. (He'll just have to hope that their memories are all that's been erased during the last several years.) "Override: Commander Cork, Designation CC-2224. What is your mission?"

The little astromech whistles and screams loudly. A hurried stream of droid binary spills out of the machine, much to John's vexation. He's never been particularly skilled at the language. He'd barely caught a handful of the words that Artoo had spat out. Something about General Ma, schematics for a weapon, and Bail's little rebellion. The clone doesn't like what it points to, and he likes not knowing the specifics of the situation even less.

"Oh my!" C-3PO exclaims, staring down at the astromech.

"Threepio, translation?" he demands.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry, sir! I can't," Threepio frets, returning its attention to the clone, "You see, Artoo just instructed me not to translate the mission's parameters."

"And you're going to listen to him?" John asks, unable to comprehend a galaxy in which C-3PO accepts orders from R2-D2 without so much as a complaint, let alone questioning the smaller droid's sanity and reason.

The astromech brings out its welding arm and approaches the man menacingly.

"Put that away and behave," John instructs with no small amount of annoyance.

Artoo obeys and wails in dismay.

Threepio apparently decides to ignore Artoo's actions and instead answers John's earlier question, "Indeed. I have been programmed to accept commands from this R2 unit when he uses an override code, not unlike the one you have just used on him."

When had Threepio been reprogrammed with _that_? And why hadn't anyone thought of doing it sooner? John can think of a few times having a quick way to get the fussy protocol droid to simply _obey_ would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. And Artoo already chooses to spend half its time babysitting the other droid, anyway. As far as John is concerned, it's a brilliant solution.

The tall machine brings John out of his thoughts by asking, "If I may, sir, how is it that you have an override command for this R2 unit?"

The man considers his response for a moment before stating, "I served under General Ma Pines, during the Clone Wars. At the time, the two of you were her droids; though it seems your memories have been wiped sometime between then and now." The wipe isn't terribly surprising. It's a standard enough practice to reset the memory drives upon the sale or purchase of droids, after all.

Artoo rolls back and forth on its wheels in consideration and John eyes it warily. He knows this droid and it is fully capable of making itself a nuisance when it thinks it's justified.

"I'm afraid I don't recall ever being owned by a war general," Threepio remarks, "What would I have even done in the service of a military leader?"

"Babysit her son while she and her husband were on the frontlines, mostly," John tells it.

Carla and Cassie return, each with a bag slung over their shoulders. "We're ready, Daddy," Carla announces softly, clearly unnerved by the sudden turn their lives have taken. It's understandable.

"Good," he responds, "Get back in the speeder with the droids. I'll join you in a minute, once I grab my own bag." And gets the house ready to greet any unwanted guests that might show up while they're away. If that 'might' turns out to be a 'do' -- and that is all but guaranteed -- there won't be anything left to return to, but there will also be fewer pursuers afterward and that's well worth sacrificing the house for.

"Yes, Daddy," his daughters chorus.


	3. Ford, I am Your Father

**Hyperspace**

Prince Stanford Organa wakes in a holding cell. He's not sure how long he's been unconscious and, when his most recent memories come back to him, he's surprised he has been given the opportunity to regain consciousness at all. Unfortunately, that doesn't make the situation he finds himself in a good one. He can only hope that Artoo and Threepio will be able to locate General Ma Pines in time while also avoiding Imperial detection. If the stolen schematics don't make it to the Alliance, the entire galaxy will soon be crushed under the heavy fist of tyranny.

Of course, Ford doubts very much that he will live long enough to see whatever the fate of the Alliance or Empire will be. In all likelihood, if the Empire is willing to abduct him, they are willing to kill him. Though probably not before they try to interrogate him. So, that leaves him with two options: escape or die.

Stanford spends several minutes studiously exploring his cramped, temporary quarters. His search turns up nothing useful. Are all Imperial prisons this thorough? Surely they can't be. Too many people have managed to escape too many Imperial holding facilities and the cost would be prohibitive. Which means he's being treated as a special case. It makes sense but it's far from helpful.

The door slides open without warning and disturbs his thoughts. The teenager blinks up at the Sith Lord standing in the doorway. Ford swallows in trepidation. He's out of time.

Darth Vader's heavy breathing echoes in the small room for a handful of seconds before he speaks, "Come." The sith turns on his heel and walks away.

Stanford's legs stumble after the man under some kind of outside compulsion. The teen has heard rumors of how the sith could read minds and kill with a mere thought, but somehow he hasn't heard a thing about Vader being able to puppet another being's body against their will. It is disconcerting to say the least. The compulsion lasts less than a second but the message is clear. Ford will not be able to make a bid for his freedom as long as he is in the presence of the Emperor's Enforcer.

Two stormtroopers fall into formation behind him as soon as he leaves his cell. After several turns through numerous indescript corridors, Vader stops in front of a door that looks exactly like every other door they've passed.

"Leave us," Vader intones as he punches in the passcode for the door.

"Lord Va--"

"If you are about to question me, Trooper," he warns without turning to look or even changing the tone of his voice, "I would strongly advise you to reconsider."

"Sir!" both stormtroopers immediately salute in response. They hold their positions and say nothing more.

The door slides open and Vader makes an almost negligent gesture for Ford to enter first. The room is smaller than the holding cell he'd just left and ends in another door with another security keypad. Stanford cautiously obeys. What else can he do at this juncture?

Darth Vader turns to regard the two troopers. "Dismissed." Both soldiers drop their salutes, turn, and march in discipled precision back the way they had come from.

The taller man joins him in the tiny room and enters the second code. The first door snaps shut but the second doesn't open. Instead, the sound of hissing gases fill the room. Ford panics.

A firm hand lands on the teen's shoulder. Stanford stares up at the older man with undisguised terror. He doesn't want to suffocate. "Breathe," Vader instructs, "If I wanted you dead, there are simpler ways to achieve it." Cold logic. Ford can work with that.

The hissing stops and a quiet double-beep sounds. The second door slides away to reveal, of all things, a child. The boy in front of him can't be more than a decade standard.

"Dad!" the child exclaims, hurtling forward and attaching himself to Vader's hip.

Stanford feels his understanding of the galaxy tilt. Darth Vader has a son?

"Sherman," the Sith replies, resting a hand briefly on the boy's head. "This is Prince Stanford Organa of Alderaan. You should introduce yourself."

The boy, Sherman, looks up at Ford with an excited grin. Sherman detaches from the sith and offers the teen a perfectly executed Alderaanian bow. "Prince Organa, welcome to our home," he recites, "My name is Sherman Pines. It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness." The boy peeks up at him from his bow. In a loud child's whisper, he asks, "Did I do that right? Dad said it was important."

"You did very well," Stanford assures the younger boy, trying desperately to find his footing in a reality where sith have families. He thinks he might be in shock. He relies more on years of etiquette training than he does on thought as he bows in return and completes the exchange, "I thank you for your welcome. It is my pleasure to meet you, Sherman Pines." Something about the boy's name nags at him but Stanford can't think of a reason why it should.

Beside him, Vader tips his head down in a reserved nod. Apparently, that is high praise indeed, because Sherman positively beams. The child grabs Stanford's hand and drags him into what are obviously personal quarters. An eager stream of chatter flows from the boy, "Dad doesn't bring visitors very often. Barely ever! What is it like on Alderaan? What do you do for fun? What do you eat? Are you going to work with Dad, now? Will you visit again?" Sherman pushes Ford onto a small couch before clambering onto it himself.

Stanford doesn't have a chance to answer any of the questions. His brain is still in a fog of disbelief and bewilderment.

"Sherman," Vader says as he claims the chair opposite the couch, "One question at a time."

"Sorry, Dad," Sherman mumbles. The child seems to realize something because he quickly abandons the couch to stand near his father. "I can help!"

Vader only holds out his left arm for the boy in response to the declaration.

The child proceeds to quickly and efficiently remove the gauntlet. Ford isn't sure what he expected to see, but it isn't extensive burn scars and three missing fingers replaced with mechanical prosthesis. Sherman moves on to the the right gauntlet and soon reveals another half-missing, prosthetic finger. Strange scars branch outward from the damaged digit, stretching over the palm and the outside of the hand. The helmet is the last piece Vader allows Sherman to remove. The older man, and it seems that Vader is actually a flesh and blood man after all, has a cybernetic left eye and the harsh scar that cuts across his forehead and cheek hints at the injury that took his original eye.

Vader holds Stanford's gaze steadily and the teen feels increasingly trapped as he takes in the sight before him. Vader looks human. Entirely too human. He's always seen the Sith Lord as a monster to be defeated, slain, and buried. To see anything else is dangerous. Thinking of your adversaries as sentients (let alone as your own species) can lead to things like sympathy, which can in turn lead to fatal mistakes like hesitation. Ford has a sneaking suspicion that if he were miraculously given the means to destroy Darth Vader -- one of the Galactic Empire's most despicable agents and also one of the single greatest threats to the Rebel Alliance -- he would hesitate. All because he's met a small child and seen the face normally hidden behind the sith's intimidating helm. What has he gotten himself into?

"Sherman, go to your room and play," Vader says without dropping his gaze from Stanford. Some part of the teen's mind notes that the other sounds weirdly normal without the helmet's various filters obscuring his voice. "The prince and I need to speak alone."

"But, Dad, I want --"

"Now, Sherman." The sith doesn't raise his voice but, just as with the stormtroopers earlier, the boy doesn't object a second time.

"Yes, Sir," Sherman says quietly. The child shuffles further into the living quarters, though he does dare to take a quick peek back at them before he disappears behind a door.

Only after his son has left the room does Darth Vader say anything more. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions," he states in an even voice, "Allow me to address the more obvious ones.

"You are aboard my Star Destroyer, the _Devastator_. Your entire crew has been officially executed as traitors to the Empire. Off the record, they were either killed when I ordered the _Tantive IV_ be destroyed or else shortly after they launched their escape pods. I doubt any of them survived long under the _Devastator_ 's fire." And, suddenly, Stanford is wrenched from the surreal moment he'd been suspended in and thrown mercilessly back into the ugly realities of war. He's lead his entire crew to their deaths. And, if Vader is telling the truth about shooting down all the escape pods, he has also completely failed in his mission. It's all been for nothing. "You are the only one still alive. I have no plans to allow the knowledge of your survival to leave this ship."

He can't think. Good men are dead. They're dead because of the monster sitting across from him, and they're dead because Ford made too many mistakes. There's too much anger, and sorrow, and fear. He's so confused. What is he supposed to do now? "Why?" Ford chokes out, "I don't understand."

Vader grunts and says, "Because Cipher would delight in seeing you destroyed."

"Why would I be of interest to the emperor?" Stanford's whole face scrunches up in anger and confusion. None of this makes any sense. "I've never met him! And why would you try to hide me from the emperor to begin with? Everyone knows that Darth Vader is the primary enforcer behind Emperor Cipher's rule. Why --"

"Enough," Vader waves an impatient hand, "You are of interest to Cipher because you are powerfully Force Sensitive, whether you are aware of that fact or not."

"I think I --"

"I am not finished!" Darth Vader barks and the temperature seems to drop sharply. Ford shivers and falls silent. "The Organas did well to keep you away from Imperial Center and Cipher, though allowing you to become entangled with the Rebel Alliance's affairs was foolish. Regardless, now that I am aware of you, whatever protection Breha and Bail may have been able to afford you is at its end. Alderaan will mourn its lost prince and denounce any knowledge of you and your compatriots' treasonous activities. It may be enough to save their planet, provided the emperor's attention is not drawn to your continued status among the living. If you care for the well-being of your planet and your adoptive parents, you will help to ensure that my deception is successful and avoid causing me trouble.

"More than that, Cipher will have an interest in you because I have an interest in you. Keeping you alive after the emperor becomes aware of you will be difficult. Doubly so, if you are fighting me."

"I won't become a sith," Ford asserts, "I won't be used to destroy the galaxy's last hope for freedom."

Vader scoffs. He actually looks _amused_ by the declaration. "All you rebels are too idealistic. Even with your strength in the Force, you would make a poor sith. My interest in you lays elsewhere."

At this point, Stanford is almost afraid to ask. He does so anyway, "Where?"

"It's common knowledge that the Organas adopted you at a young age. What do you know of your birth parents?" the sith questions.

The shift in the conversation throws Ford off balance for a moment. "My birth parents? I..." Why would this be of importance to Vader? Had he known them? "Next to nothing," he answers honestly, "It's never been important. I have good parents. There are many who are less fortunate."

Vader considers him critically. "I see." The man leans forward and activates the holoprojector on a low table positioned between the couch and Vader's chair. "Most of these were taken eighteen to twenty years ago."

The flickering lights resolve themselves into a blue-tinged image suspended in the air above the table's surface. "That's General Ma," Stanford identifies the woman in the hologram immediately, "Who is that next to her?"

"Her husband," Vader tells him, "They fought side-by-side through most of the Clone Wars."

"General Filbrick," Ford realizes, "I don't think I've ever actually seen a holo of him before. Did you know them? Personally?"

Are these truly his birth parents? Two legends from the Clone Wars that disappeared sometime during its chaotic end? It seems fantastical, but he isn't willing to discount the possibility, either. He knows his parents were friends with General Ma, at least. Considering that he now knows the woman is in hiding on Tatooine, he can understand why she might have decided to entrust her child to friends rather than take a baby with her to live on such a harsh planet.

A new image flickers into being as the old one vanishes.

"I knew Maude, once," Vader admits, as an afterthought he adds, "Her husband wasn't much for the publicity that followed them on Coruscant. There aren't many holos of him publically available."

Another image replaces the last one. This one has Generals Ma and Filbrick just as the previous holos, but it also has a much younger third person with them. Sherman Pines grins out from the still image looking entirely untouched by time. Ford blinks but the impossible child fails to disappear and the teen abruptly remembers why the younger -- older? -- boy's name sounds familiar to him. Sherman had been the son of Generals Ma and Filbrick Pines. What is going on?

The holo transitions into the next image.

Stanford glances repeatedly between the ever changing holo and the man seated across from him. He tries to look past two decades worth of aging and significant scarring. Yes, yes he can see the resemblance. He only wishes he could believe he was mistaken.

"You're General Filbrick Pines," Ford says in dawning horror.

Vader gives him a bitter smile. "I'm what's left of him," the sith says, "and your father."


	4. Relics of a Bygone Age

**Jundland Wastes, Tatooine**

"Stay in the transport," Cork orders as he climbs out of the landspeeder. He twists to stare down Artoo. "Especially you," he growls before looking at his daughters, "Watch that one. We'll be out shortly."

Sand shifts under his old combat boots as he stalks toward the general's small hut. He understands the rationale of her decision to live in the Wastes, but there are times where it's damned inconvenient. Like now. They could already be searching for a way off planet by now if the general had just agreed to live in the Anchorhead house with his family. Can't be helped. Carry on with the mission.

"You're sure you can't tell me more?" a male voice reaches his ears.

Cork has a hand on the small sidearm hidden under his cloak before he places the voice as belonging to one of the local moisture farmers. Non-hostile. Seems that General Ma is entertaining a guest. Cork releases the blaster and fixes his cloak before he rounds the sidewall of the dwelling. No need to alarm innocent civilians.

"The dreams could be something," Ma Pines allows, "or they could be nothing. I once knew a man who had visions like you. He used them to great effect during the old wars, but they weren't always right. And when he was wrong, it was always disastrous. The last time he dwelt too heavily on his visions, it destroyed everything he fought to protect." The woman pauses to let her words sink in. "Go home, Anakin," she tells the man, "Be vigilant, protect your family, but don't put your life on hold for dreams that may never come to pass."

Cork watches as the farmer frowns and nods slowly.

"Thank you, Maude. I'll do that." Anakin Skywalker nods at the clone as they pass each other, "John."

Cork grunts, "Skywalker." He hesitates a moment then grabs the other man's arm. Skywalker startles slightly but doesn't pull away. Lowly, Cork says, "I have it on good authority Tatooine might see a spike in Imperial interest, soon. Probably not for long, but the Imps are never good news. If you're really worried, stock up before they get here."

Anakin's face turns grim. "Understood," he murmurs with another nod.

Cork lets him go and the other has soon returned to his own landspeeder and left. The clone refocuses on the person he actually came to see. "General," he says.

Maude raises a brow at his brusque greeting. "Commander," she replies with a trace of humor, as she gives him a once-over. She observes, "You look like you're ready for war."

Cork shrugs. "I am."

Maude of the Wastes disappears like water vapor on the desert winds, leaving General Ma Pines in her place. The woman strides across the ground to stand in front of him. "What's happened?"

"Found something that used to belong to you," the clone says, "A pair of somethings, actually. Both memory wiped, as far as I can tell, but they're here looking for you."

"Bail sent the droids?" Ma wonders, "He must really be in trouble if he's dusting off old relics like us."

"If you're answering the call, I'd recommend packing quickly, General," Cork glances pointedly back the way he came, "I have my girls and the droids waiting in the speeder."

"I won't be long, Commander," Ma assures, "Prep the transport."

"One more thing, Artoo claims it's got a message for you. Should probably listen to that before we make any further plans."

The woman gives a sharp nod. "Very well. Send Artoo to me. I'll listen as I gather my things."

"Yes, Ma'am." Cork salutes the general half out of habit but he could have repressed the gesture if he'd wanted to. There are some things that should be remembered, however, and rebels don't often have time for the niceties true militaries regularly indulge in.

Ma smiles, sad around the edges but true all the same. "Some days, I miss your brothers."

Cork drops the salute, tips his head to acknowledge the shared sentiment, spins on his heal, and marches back to his landspeeder. It's been a long time since he's had a mission and he has conflicting thoughts regarding how easy it is for him to slip back into the role of soldier. He can't deny that a part of him revels in returning to his roots. He was _born_ and _bred_ for war, after all. It's only natural. Still, he's going to miss being retired.


	5. The Messenger

Her father moves with a purpose she has never witnessed before she and Cassie brought Threepio and Artoo home with them. Armor she has only glimpsed in the back of the storage unit until now has been put back into use, halfheartedly hidden beneath a threadbare cloak. Carla has grown up hearing tales of a massive army of _ba'vodu_ , none of whom she has met herself, and a war that shaped the whole galaxy before her birth. What must it have been like to see? An army that was millions strong and entirely comprised of men who all wore her father's face?

"General Ma wants to see Artoo," John McCorkle says as he climbs back into the speeder's pilot seat, "Carla, go with the droid, make sure it behaves itself, and help the general prep for departure. Cassidy, check the equipment and load up. Get your sister's gear ready while you're at it."

"Yes, Daddy," both girls chorus, sharing a quick glance before hurrying to obey. One does not second guess their commander.

Carla hops over the side of the speeder. "Come on, Artoo!" she encourages, "Let's go deliver your message!"

The astromech whistles in agreement and hastily follows after her into the small desert hut.

"Aunt Maude!" Carla calls as she pushes open the front door, "Daddy sent me to help you."

"Carla," the older woman greets her with a smile but doesn't pause as she collects whatever she deems important from various shelves and cabinets, "And R2-D2. I hear that you have something for me."

Artoo beeps an affirmative answer and immediately begins playing a holo-recording.

"General Ma Pines, I am Prince Stanford Organa of Alderaan," says a small, flickering figure, "son of Queen Breha and Prince Bail."

"Carla, see about packing my things for me," Maude orders suddenly, unloading everything that she'd gathered onto her narrow cot, next to an open bag. The woman hunches in front of the droid and puts her complete attention into studying the recording with an almost worrisome intensity.

The man in the recording is perhaps a few years older than Carla, well dressed and maintaining a passable parade-rest posture. He's also rather handsome, in his own right. Carla pushes that thought away. There are more important things to consider right now than the looks of a foreign royal that she doubts she will ever meet, such as the message currently being relayed.

"I regret that I will be unable to meet with you personally, as was my father's wish, but circumstances have proven unfavorable. I have sent these two droids in my stead as --" There is a short interruption of blaster fire heard in the background of the recording. The prince glances fearfully over his shoulder before refocusing himself. "Please, General, the Alliance is in desperate need of your skills. We won't last much longer against the Empire's forces as we are and then its tyranny will stand unimpeded throughout the galaxy. Even if you remain resolute in maintaining your isolation, please escort this R2 unit back to my parents on Alderaan. The information it possesses is vital to the Alliance." There is another burst of blaster fire, this time louder and nearer. Prince Stanford grimaces. "I wish I had had the privilege of meeting you. May the Force be with you, General Ma." A brief pause, and then, "Artoo, end recording." The last frame of the message remains suspended in the air.

"Bail, what were you thinking, sending him out?" Maude asks no one, still staring at the frozen figure.

Carla cinches the travel bag closed and sidles up next to the older woman. "Aunt Maude?"

"Carla. I'm sorry, dear," Maude says as she accepts the single piece of luggage, "Are we ready to go?"

"Just waiting on you, I think," she answers.

"Yes, of course." Maude takes a brief visual inspection of her modest hut. "Let's go. The situation is more dire than we first thought. Once things settle down, we'll have to see about advancing the pace of your training."

Carla blinks in surprise but dutifully says, "Yes, Master."

Maude turns on her heel and marches out of her home for what will probably be the final time. Artoo follows in her wake with Carla bringing up the rear. As soon as they reach the transport, Maude states, "It's worse than we feared. Bail didn't just send the droids. He sent Stanford."

John goes very still for a split second before cursing loudly. " _Kark!_ I thought the whole point was to keep him hidden! Not dangle him out in the open like bait!" the man snaps, "What was Organa thinking?"

Maude's expression tightens. "I don't know, but we don't have time to sit around asking questions. We either figure it out enroute or ask Bail ourselves once we get there."

"Mos Eisley is the closest spaceport," John states, "We should be able to find something there that can get us off planet."

"Then let's get there quickly, Commander Cork."

"Of course, General."

The speeder is crowded is with four sentients and two droids for passengers but only Threepio complains about the lack of room. Artoo beeps a reprimand at its fussy counterpart and then even Threepio falls silent.

There is just one more short conversation had on the way to Mos Eisley.

"General, what happens if _Vader_ finds the boy?" Cork asks. (And how strange is it to realize that her father is using his old clone name?)

The woman doesn't respond immediately. "That may well be the best outcome we can hope for," she muses, once she has gathered her thoughts, "Provided he opens his eyes and sees what's right in front of him."

"Hm, perhaps so."

"If he doesn't," Maude continues, voice strained, "I may well end up taking on the task Yoda thought he could order me to do eighteen years ago."

Her father glances at the jedi but declines to reply further than that.

For the rest of the journey not another word is said.


End file.
